


Craving

by Copper_Nails (Her_Madjesty)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, But Definitely With Emotions, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Lust, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 13:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12433704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Her_Madjesty/pseuds/Copper_Nails
Summary: Jyn taught herself long ago to ignore her basic cravings, so when the feeling hits, she dismisses it.





	Craving

**Author's Note:**

> You know how I wrote that other series of works where Cassian's the one pining and masturbating? I decided that Jyn deserved a little time in that area, too. That, and I've been away from this area of writing for a while and wanted to revisit it. Huzzah! 
> 
> That said, I hope you all enjoy this piece. Who knows? Another might be coming soon. XOXO

She knows it as a craving. Insistent or not, Jyn taught herself long ago to ignore her basic cravings, so when the feeling hits, she dismisses it. As she and Cassian travel, she simply...grows used to the way her eyes stray to the confident curves of his hands and the traitorous way her body thrums whenever he stands too close. Longing hums in her wrists and in her molars, but she endures. Self-denial is nothing new. Soon, she tells herself, the feelings will pass, and things will return to normal. She will go on, alone. Everything will be alright.

But then comes Scarif. After Scarif, nothing’s quite alright.

Jyn’s brought back to the Alliance covered in new scars: a patchwork of second and third degree burns, chunks of her hair missing, her tongue bitten clean in half. She falls unconscious for the bulk of the time it takes Rogue One’s emergency transport to return to Yavin IV; when she wakes, it’s to a med droid wiping the dried blood of her chin with deliberate - programmed - care.

It takes her a week to get back on her feet. It takes the Alliance three days to threaten and defeat the Death Star.

A ‘return to normal’, Jyn realizes, holed up in Yavin IV’s medical wing while the Imperials bear down on them, may have been optimistic thinking on her part. She holds a blaster at her side and tries not to think of Cassian (not there), Bodhi ( _not there_ ), and the guardians – the lot of them somehow missing.

“Where were you?” she demands in the after that comes, hands shaking, blood in her teeth. Bodhi babbles: different rooms, barricades, a lock he couldn’t pick. Cassian – doesn’t answer.

(He doesn’t tell her about trying to stand on new, prosthetic legs and trying to reach the room a droid had told him she was in. It’s not a pretty tale, and it’ll do nothing to ease her rage.)

Still, she _finds_ them in this after. When her heart beats a little too quickly at the sight of Cassian’s mat of brown hair, Jyn...well.

It’s not that Jyn’s never enjoyed the feeling of someone else’s hands on her skin. It’s been rare, though, that the hands she’s craved on her body are hands with which she’s familiar. So Jyn does what she does best: she buries her feeling with the Death Star’s rubble and tries to move on.

The Alliance offers her a position within their ranks, and despite her reservations, Jyn accepts. She signs on with the Pathfinders and is shot off the base along with Chirrut and Baze, both recently slotted as specialists on a mission back to Jedha. They’re gone for a month. Alliance gossip and messages tell her that Bodhi’s assigned to transport repair. Cassian, she hears nothing of.

She’s just able to pull her hair back into a ponytail again by the time the Pathfinders return to base. Chirrut and Baze delivered safely to Jedha, she does her best to convince herself that she’s successfully moving on. She visits Bodhi in the hangar, observes his prosthetic hands at work amongst the grease of a transport’s comm system. Conversation is slow between them, his tongue tripping, her tongue stone, but the air around them is warm.

It’s not bad. It’s even pleasant until she catches sight of Cassian, each step he takes forward determined, and Jyn’s heart – lurches.

“Are you alright? Jyn – what?!” Bodhi braces as she falls out of the captain’s chair and onto him; he swears, and as Jyn rights herself, she sees panic behind the brown of his eyes.

“It’s alright,” she says, voice too fierce to be soothing. Bodhi’s pulse flutters at his neck; Jyn forces herself to move slowly, focuses every breath, and reaches out to touch Bodhi’s chest. He closes his eyes. Jyn holds her breath until his own grow steady.

It’s not until he’s reopened his eyes that Jyn hears a sigh of relief from just a few inches away. She flinches, and there’s Cassian, kneeling at her side, stature calm as he studies their friend.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Jyn says, reaching up to rub the back of her neck. He radiates heat, Cassian does; it makes her skin tingle to even be near him. “Thought I saw something.”

“In the hangar?”

Jyn hesitates, then nods. She tells herself it’s not a lie.

Cassian keeps his gaze on Bodhi, but the line of his mouth goes thin. Jyn forces her gaze away and readjusts her legs beneath her so she can sit, back pressed against the side of the transport Bodhi’s been trying to fix.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. Bodhi’s jaw, she sees, is still locked with anxiety, but he reaches out and sets a heavy, metal hand on her shoulder. It stays there as he inches closer and pulls her to his chest.

Jyn feels Cassian staring at the both of them and closes her eyes against his examination. She misses the way his hands flutter in the air before he gives up and cradles the both of them.

It’s warm. Burning, even, trapped between the two men, and yet Jyn doesn’t want to move. She breathes in sweat and oil and Cassian’s nervous, Festian muttering, and finally, her muscles begin to relax.

She clings to the feeling for longer than she should before weaseling out of the men’s hold. Her retreat is less than graceful, but she goes without looking back.

(Cassian watches her as she goes, his frown growing deeper. Still, he stays with Bodhi until his work on the transport is done, then walks him to the mess hall for dinner.)

Jyn hides in her bunk throughout the bulk of dinner. She shares the room the Alliance has given her for the rare days she spends on base with three other women, all of whom are off on their own missions. The dark reassures her. She tucks herself into it, steals blankets that smell of dust and warm air and makes a nest for herself of them. Her stomach growls, but she’s long used to the sensation of hunger. She feels it on every mission she runs and every time Cassian Andor makes eye contact.

The mere thought makes her groan, exasperated. The pillow of her bunk is hard beneath her head, but Jyn doesn’t care. She stretches out and settles herself in the silence.

Time passes.

She fidgets.

Someone jogs by her door and sends her shooting upright. Jyn shakes her head and rolls her eyes, then presses her fingers to her temple in order to ward off a headache. It takes her a few moments to ease back into the warmth of the bunk again.

When, after an hour, sleep still hasn’t taken her, Jyn sighs.

It’s too easy to slide her hand down her stomach and to shuck up the thin material of her shirt. Her hands are cold, but she presses them against her skin, anyway, and waits for the temperature to become bearable.

She thinks of dark brown eyes as she reaches up and runs her fingers over the band covering her breasts.

Cassian’s own hands are as scarred as hers; his touch, she imagines, would be rough even in its hesitance. Maybe reverent. Firm, but gentle. It takes several passes of her thumbs, but her nipples bud beneath her band, and the sensation sends bursts of pleasure up her spine. Jyn presses her head back into her pillow and closes her eyes. She wouldn’t have to worry about cold hands with him. He’d burn the ice from her in an instant.

It continues to surprise her, the way she wants him to.

Heat starts to curl low in her belly. Jyn passes her thumbs over her nipples once more and feels herself growing wet. It’s familiar, and she’s loathed to take things slow, but in her mind, she sees Cassian, and she knows that he’s nothing if not a patient man.

She imagines the rough of his beard against her cheek, the scorch of his lips against her jaw bone. If she pressed up into him, would he settle his face between her breasts? Would he take his time unwrapping her breast band, then kiss the swell of her before taking a nipple between his teeth? How would he use his tongue against her?

Jyn moans. It echoes through the room.

One hand stays at her breasts while she daydreams; the other tracks down over the line of her abdomen and to the crest of her pants. She teases herself and imagines Cassian’s hand, instead, Cassian smirking and telling her to be still when she bucked against him and felt his own pleasure in the outline of his cock.

Jyn forces herself to stay above fabric as she presses against herself. She bites her lip, tastes blood. Pleasure makes a mess of her thoughts and sparks in the back of her brain, insistent as it washes out everything else.

She toys with her clit until she can feel her underclothes sticking to her for her wetness. When she pulls her hand away, she can smell her own desire. The musk threatens to fill the room. Jyn doesn’t care.

Cassian, she imagines, might move down between her thighs and turn the skin there red with his beard. Her want for the weight of him makes Jyn moan again; she can almost feel the kisses he’d leave in his wake as he stole her breath from her.

Her own hand will have to serve. Still, she longs.

Jyn keens as she finally touches herself without the barrier of fabric. Her eyes fall shut, and there’s Cassian, whispering nothings against her clit that leave her wriggling and begging him to let her cum. The tightness in her belly winds up and up; her pulse flutters in her wrists as Jyn drives herself higher. The hand still at her breast echoes back the thundering of her heart; Jyn pulls at a nipple and gasps, Cassian’s name threatening to spill from her lips.

She slips two fingers inside of her cunt with ease, she’s so slick. It takes but a few pumps until she’s teetering on the precipice. She forces herself to still, then, and ignores her own frustration. Her patience drags out the moment, leaves her open-mouthed and gasping, not quite there and yet so close.

Her hips start to buck, instinctive, uncontrolled. Jyn teases herself towards the edge and back, indulgent, all the while letting her brain conjure Cassian’s dilated eyes, his wicked smile.

She imagines the press of his cock against her slit and cums, back arching, mouth open. The moment carries; she can feel herself pulsing, pulsing, the pressure of her hand against her cunt and clit sparking in beautiful pleasure-pain.

Even as her hips drop, the peak crested and passed, Jyn keeps her eyes closed.

Later, when the aftershocks have stopped and she can feel her thighs again, Jyn will wash her hands and sneak out of her bunk to go and find dinner. She will meet Cassian’s gaze, if she sees him, and nod. She will ignore the imagined scent of her own pleasure on her skin.

(She will not see the way his eyes track her as she walks, nor will she even begin to imagine the night he spends huddled in his quarters, one hand shoved down his pants.)

(She doesn’t know the way her name sounds on his lips when he comes, doesn’t dream that she ever will.)

In this moment, though, she composes herself, though her body is sweat-soaked and buzzing. She wants a thing that might never be real, but Jyn allows herself this: brief moments entertaining an impossible fantasy.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought!


End file.
